Villain's Breeding System: Evolving 999+ Harem into an SSS-Rank Legion Chapter 458- All Harem United

Her feet left the bridge railing.

For three seconds she hung in the red-stained air above the river, her dark hair floating upward, her tear-streaked face tilted toward the sky she hadn’t been looking at, her hands open and empty at her sides.

Then the sky took her.

Three ti zones east, in a concrete apartnt with a broken radiator and a wall calendar still showing last month, a woman nad Fatima was watching the news on a tablet propped against a water bottle.

She was built in the way that made furniture feel inadequate — wide hips, heavy chest, the kind of body that drew eyes in the street and made her spend considerable energy ignoring the fact that it drew eyes in the street. She was wearing a large sleep shirt and nothing else, sitting cross-legged on her mattress, watching the BBC feed with her dark hair loose around her shoulders.

The news anchor was saying nine million.

Fatima was watching the footage of the Shinjuku woman’s phone hitting the pavent.

She watched it three tis.

Then the red sky outside her own window caught her peripheral vision and she turned her head and looked at it directly for the first ti.

It looked back.

’Oh,’ she thought, with the particular clarity of soone who understood, on a cellular level, that sothing enormous had just identified them specifically.

She looked down at herself — the sleep shirt, the bare thighs, the unremarkable dosticity of the scene — and had one complete, fully-ford thought:

’I wasn’t even dressed.’

Then the warmth found her sternum and pulled.

[ AL JAZEERA — LIVE BROADCAST ]

"— we need to update the numbers, we are now receiving confird figures from our correspondents across fourteen regions — the current estimate has been revised significantly upward — we are being told—"

The anchor paused.

Touched his earpiece.

Looked at the cara with the expression of soone whose professionalism was doing considerable heavy lifting.

"We are being told that as of this hour, the confird number of individuals reported missing — vanished — globally, stands at fifteen million."

The studio was quiet.

"Fifteen million people," he said again. "In the span of approximately three hours."

Behind him, the red sky feed played on the monitor wall.

Every country. Every tizone.

The sa color.

The sa pulse.

The sa pull.

Upward.

Gone.

----

The island had no na on any map.

That was intentional.

It sat at the precise geographic and taphysical center of sothing that cartographers didn’t have instrunts for — not the center of any ocean, not the center of any continental shelf, but the center of the seam between worlds, the thin place where the mbrane between this reality and the next had been rubbed down to translucence by the repeated passage of things that had no business moving between them.

The farmhouse stood at the island’s highest point.

It was large in the way that things built without budget constraints and without neighbors tended to be large — sprawling, multi-winged, stone at the foundation and dark timber above, with a roof that caught the red sky’s light and held it like a pan holds water. The windows were wide. The doors were heavy. The garden below the upper terrace had been planted by soone who understood that beauty served a function.

Raven stood on the upper terrace with his hands in the pockets of a dark bathrobe and looked at the sky.

The red had reached the island’s horizon approximately twenty minutes ago. It moved differently out here than it did over the cities — slower, more deliberate, spreading from the east like a tide that had decided to co in from above rather than below. It pressed against the upper atmosphere with the patience of sothing that knew it would get there eventually and saw no reason to hurry.

He watched it.

"Eight hours," he said, to no one visible. "Give or take."

The wind off the water was warm. Wrong for this latitude, wrong for this ti of year, right for what was happening above it.

He looked at the red and let his mind run the arithtic he’d been running since before any news anchor in any country had started reporting numbers.

Fifteen million.

He’d been one of them, the first ti.

He rembered it with the particular clarity that only humiliating experiences retained — the sensation of being pulled out of his world without ceremony, the labyrinth’s entrance materializing around him before he’d had ti to form a complete thought about what was happening. The cold stone. The sll of it. The sound of fifteen million confused, frightened people resolving themselves from sky-pulled chaos into sothing the labyrinth could sort.

The sorting had been brutal.

That was the word for it, the clean, accurate word. The labyrinth sorted. It applied pressure until what remained was hierarchy — the strong, the clever, the vicious, the adaptable, arranged in the configuration that the other world required them in. Subordinates under heroes. Heroes under kings. Kings under sothing he hadn’t been given a na for yet.

He’d been sorted under Gareth.

Gareth, who had the pure bloodline, who had been transmitted directly to the throne hall while Raven and fourteen million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine others ran labyrinths and killed each other and learned very fast what kind of people they actually were when the scaffolding of civilization was removed.

That was where he’d found Nyra.

That was how the system had found him.

That was how this had started.

He turned his face slightly away from the red sky and looked at the mory the way he looked at all mories — from a slight distance, with the detachnt of soone who had decided that what had already happened was data rather than damage.

’And now.’

Now the clouds would reach the island in eight hours.

Now fifteen million new people were moving through the pull, so of them landing in labyrinths, so of them landing directly in the other world, all of them sorted by the sa system that had sorted him.

Now he had a hall of transmigration waiting for him — a direct line under the king, no labyrinth, no sorting, the privilege of soone who had already been processed and had co back with considerable additional information.

He could go now.

He could step into the purple and arrive in the king’s hall within the hour.

He looked at the red sky.

"You’ll have to wait, Astasia," he said.

The na sat in the warm air over the terrace, private, directed at sothing far away and fully capable of receiving it.

He wasn’t in a hurry.

He had eight hours.

He had, more relevantly, things to do with eight hours that the king’s hall could not offer him.

He looked down.

Below the terrace, in the wide flagstone courtyard that separated the farmhouse’s main entrance from the garden’s edge, approximately a dozen won stood in varying states of confusion.

They were bound — wrists behind their backs with soft cloth ties, nothing punishing, just sufficient — and blindfolded with strips of dark fabric. The blindfolds were neat. Soone had been tidy about this.

They stood in no particular formation. They’d been placed roughly in the courtyard’s center and had since redistributed themselves the way confused blindfolded people do — so standing very still, so turning slow circles, so tilting their heads toward sounds and voices.

All of them talking.

The voices overlapped, wove through each other, interrupted and contradicted:

"— hello? Hello, is anyone — where am I, the last thing I rember is my apartnt—"

"— my hands are tied, why are my hands tied, I need soone to explain—"

"— Raven. I’m looking for Raven. Has anyone here — does anyone know who—"

"— What? Darling?*

"— Husband? Is he the one who brought —?"

"— Aahn~ Is he going to fuck ."

"— Y-you disgusting perverted woman... M-my pregnant belly feels to uncomfortable, I need him to be gentle with ropes atleast!"

"— Don’t call Master that... he likes rough and need many won too—"

"— Umh... Yeah—"

"— Master—"

"— yes, Master, exactly—"

"— Why there are so many won here—"

"— my hands are tied with magic, I can’t break the bindings—"

"— I know but what if ge just wants to play kinky ga—"

"— My Pussy Hurts so much without his cock—"

"—Are there bitches too here?"

"Ummngh... Yeah, I am his bitch... Master~!!"

While looking down at his won—Hana, Min-jung, Yuna, Priya, Avriana, Celia, Nara, era, Elena, Preet, Sophia, Gia, Jennifer, Veronica, Müller, Kira, Marga—all of them in one place creating lodious voices of protest.

’Sigh... How can I just co out of nowhere? You see... I have won to fuck.’